Operation Wank
by Visinata
Summary: Written for the Carry On Countdown Day 5: prequel Why did Baz send Simon that note in Agatha's handwriting? Read and learn.


BAZ

All bloody year Simon Snow followed me around. He was outside my violin lessons, in the stands by the pitch—rain or shine. He even followed me to classes I was in that he wasn't. Probably got away with turning up late to his own lessons because the Mage's Heir can do no wrong. Or maybe because his teachers were just as happy to have him out of the classroom for a few minutes. They are charged with keeping their students safe, after all.

All I wanted was a little bit of peace. Sorting through the feelings that were beginning to feel indelible (I'd been trying to erase them since second year) was impossible to do with Simon right there. And he was always right there. When the penny finally dropped and I realized I was in love, I also understood that my urges to get my hands on Snow were less about his pain and more about my pleasure.

I spent most of 5th year trying to fight it, the idea that I loved Simon Snow. The thought that the twist in my stomach when he entered the room and the stab when he left was more than animosity. I tried to talk myself into believing it was just puberty and hormones and a good wank would clear my head. That maybe what I was mistaking for love was merely an aesthetic obsession with his muscular forearms and tawny curls, with the whole Crowley-forsaken package of apple-cheeked heroism, really. I tried it (clearing my head with my dick in my hand) furtively in the shower, but he was always there waiting outside the door, turning me into a nervous wreck. Not exactly good for fantasizing. I wanted to devote some serious time to the activity, to work through everything and get him out of my head once and for all.

Over the summer I finally got my chance. I spent two months practically locked into my bedroom… addressing my feelings for Simon. In the end it was a failed experiment, but not for lack of trying. Believe me, I tried and I tried and I tried. But it only made it worse.

During those two months, in addition to perfecting my **clean as a whistle** and working out a replenishing spell for the tiny bottle of lube Fiona had given me at Christmas as a joke (was it as a joke?) (What a pity I don't dare submit a lube replenishing spell for my 8th year project. It's work I'm actually quite proud of, and incredibly useful), I came up with a plan. (You've got me Snow, I really did spend the summer plotting against you this time.)

So far 6th year's been better, at least in terms of Snow giving me space. (Even though I don't really want him to.) (I'd rather there was no space between us at all.) So I didn't need to put my plan into action in the autumn, but with the cold of winter setting in, he's becoming impossible to avoid again.

After the… hard work I put in this summer, I'm far too certain that my feelings for Snow are no passing fancy. And I know now that I can't wank them away, but that doesn't mean some quality alone time won't help.

I've just returned from dinner when Simon storms into the room, glaring daggers at me. It's the last straw. I've been trying to keep out of his way, I've not done anything above and beyond to antagonize him all week, even though he's been dogging my heels like it's last year again. Seriously, he managed to sit in on both classes of mine he isn't in today, and somehow melted all of the library tables except the one I was sitting at, so he had to join me while I was studying for Friday's big Greek exam. Even though he didn't need to be there; you don't need to be in the library to glare and leak magic and mutter under your breath.

So that does it. It's time to put Operation Wank into motion.

The next morning I slide up beside Wellbelove in Magic Words, and she's too busy batting her eyelashes and calling me Basiltion to notice me slipping a piece of her personalized note paper out of her book bag. Simon giving us massive jealous stink-eye is an added bonus.

During tea I duck back to the room because I know Snow will be busy stuffing his face in the dining hall. I take out my pen and write a note asking Snow to wait for me (Agatha) under the yew tree after dark. I think that will be enough for the twat, but just to sweeten the deal, I write that there will be a surprise for him, and underline the word surprise. Let his imagination run wild with that. (scones? sex? both at once?) Then, for the icing on top, I dot both the i and the exclamation mark with a heart.

I know it's maudlin, but I wish I could do that for real—show him how often I'm thinking sickeningly sweet thoughts about him. For a moment I'm intensely jealous of Wellbelove. And angry, and frustrated. A tear escapes my eye, splashing onto the page, and before I can gather my wits enough to remember that I'm a magician and could simply make it disappear, I've scribbled out the telltale mark of my softness (my shame) with ink from my pen.

I recall myself, and remind myself of the reason I'm writing this note to begin with. The evening of blissful solitude I'm planning for myself to work through these terrible feelings and turn them into something wonderful. I take a deep breathe and magick the note to mimic Agatha's handwriting.

The next class we share, I go out of my way to knock all of Snows books and papers onto the floor, something so juvenile I haven't done it since fourth year. While Snow is crawling around on the floor after his belongings, swearing and blustering, I drop the note onto his desk.

The way he lights up when he sees the square of pale pink paper almost makes me regret what I've done. But Snow's existence makes me regret everything, so I count us as even. This had better work.

It's late November and snowing lightly outside. We're getting close to the solstice, so the last vestiges of sunset fade from the sky over the course of dinner. Snow's brought his coat and hat with him and he keeps one eye on the window and the other on Wellbelove. When she gets up to leave, he waits five minutes, practically vibrating, then throws on his outdoor gear (he doesn't seem to have gloves or a scarf) and dashes away.

I take my time, the drawbridge won't close for another couple of hours and this is Snow we're talking about. He'll stay out there till the bitter end rather than risk leaving his lady love waiting. I've got time.

When I'm finished pushing tonight's lackluster offering of chipped beef around my plate, I excuse myself. Dev and Niall are on their own for studying tonight. I've got my own work cut out for me this evening and it emphatically does not include them.

As soon as I enter the room, I cross to the window. Sure enough there's Snow, pacing underneath the yew tree, casting periodic glances in the direction of The Cloisters. I watch him for a minute, reluctant to leave the window in order to get down to business. But in a stroke of genius, I realize I don't have to leave the window. I pull my wand out of my jacket pocket and summon my lube. This is brilliant. I've gotten off to the thought of Snow before. Many times. But never while actually looking at him. Why didn't I come up with this plan years ago?

I open my trousers and get to work, leaning on the window ledge with my other arm for support, eyes fixed on Snow. Just as I'm nearing my climax Snow, the bloody perfect disaster, whips around like something's about to attack, draws his sword, and lowers his body into fighting stance. And that sends me right over the edge. I watch him tensed and ready for battle while I come, then lower my head onto the arm that's been supporting me on the window to recover.

When I look up again, the drawbridge is rising and Snow is looking towards it in dismay, sword still in hand. I can't believe my luck.

I'd feel bad for Snow—I would, I'm not a monster—but in all honestly, I'm feeling too good right now to care. Besides, a night in the cold won't hurt a nuclear furnace like Snow, and he deserves this for everything he's put me through.

Standing at the window with my hand in my pants wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I envisioned this evening. I'm feeling slightly wobbly legged, but also stiff and uncomfortable. And cold. There's a persistent draft at this window. I decide to take it to the shower for the next round.

I take my time in the shower. I have no idea how long I'm in there, but it doesn't matter at all because Snow's locked out for the night and I feel like nothing in the world matters right now but me and my bottle of lube.

As soon as I'm out of the shower I check the window again. Snow's still out there under the yew tree. He's given up on looking at The Cloisters, I see. Now he's stomping around rubbing his hands up and down his arms, looking cold for once in his life. Why doesn't he cast a basic warming charm, for snakes sake? At least he seems to have come up with some gloves. No scarf though, that's hanging over the back of his chair, right next to me.

I reach out and pick it up. It could use a good cleaning, in all honesty. But I bury my nose in it anyway. Because I'm a disgrace to magic, and because it smells thickly of Simon Snow. I think I'm recovered enough from my shower that I'm ready for round three-or actually round four, if we're keeping track.

I take one more look out the window and see a flurry of snow devils descend on Snow. They're pelting him with chestnuts and he does his best to fend them off for a few minutes before sinking down into the snow and covering his head.

While I watch, I inhale Snow's musky, smokey scent from his scarf and palm myself through my pajamas. Time to take this to the bed.

I consider Snow's bed, but that's a line I'm not quite prepared to cross. The scarf and my imagination will be enough.

I must fall asleep after, because the next thing I know, the sun is streaming in through the open window curtains and the door is creaking open. I bolt upright and throw Simon's scarf onto the floor hoping fervently that he doesn't remember he actually hung it up yesterday, and also that I remembered to spell it clean last night after I was done with it.

I grab the lube bottle and hide it under the covers. And while Snow whinges at me about his night, recounting his misadventures with his unfulfilled wait for Agatha, the closing drawbridge, the snow devils, and the cold, I turn my back on him and relive my own memories of those same exact moments, blissfully alone in our room.


End file.
